


Dunia

by yujacheong



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Hair Braiding, Mild Sexual Content, Pre-Canon, Sleepy Cuddles, Slice of Life, Tatooine Slave Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-07-28 00:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20055094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujacheong/pseuds/yujacheong
Summary: Shmi Skywalker finds love while in the service of Gardulla the Hutt.“Every single person who comes into our lives bearing love is a blessing,” Dunia said. “That’s what my people believe.”“Yes. I believe that too.”





	Dunia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skatzaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/gifts).

“Here. Let me.”

“No, it’s all right. I’m nearly done,” Shmi protested as she felt the hairbrush with its stiff wire bristles being pried gently from her grasp.

Truth be told, the hairbrush was less for the hair on her head _per se_ than for her scalp proper. On desert planets like Tatooine, slaves were not ordinarily given water for bathing. Only her Hutt Mistress enjoyed such regular luxuries as a bathtub full of actual, clean water. And so, in order to keep her scalp free of dirt, oil, dead skin, and other debris, Shmi raked herself with that wire-bristled brush each morning until the flesh was raw and burning.

Her hair, such as it was, was practically an afterthought…to Shmi. As long as it was out of her face and tied up – there would be hell to pay if any human hair were to be found in Mistress Gardulla’s gorg stew! – she was content. It was not an afterthought, however, to Dunia.

“Give it over,” Dunia commanded.

“Oh, very well.” Shmi heaved a sigh and did as she was told.

“Thank you!” Dunia pressed a quick, playful kiss to Shmi’s cheek.

Since Shmi had done most of the work already, Dunia dispensed quickly with the brushing. Her long, tapered fingers were the epitome of grace as they wove Shmi’s hair into a three stranded braid, which she then wrapped in a coil and secured around Shmi’s head.

“Human cultures on a variety of worlds attach particular significance to braids – did you know that?” Dunia murmured, close to Shmi’s ear as she massaged the uncomfortable burning sensation from Shmi’s scalp. “Why, on Alderaan, it’s said that they…”

Shmi closed her eyes and let herself be hypnotized by that beautifully low-pitched voice. Dunia sure did love her stories of faraway planets and systems, but it was perhaps ironic that Dunia would have any particular interest in human hair. _She_ didn’t possess any hair, after all.

No Twi’lek did.

*

Shmi Skywalker was not a remarkable slave. She was young and reasonably healthy, and she was purebred human, but she was small and not especially strong. She was not especially beautiful, either – bland as a brown titmouse, Mistress Gardulla liked to say – and she was possessed of no unique talent.

Mostly, she worked in the kitchens. Cooking and cleaning. Serving platters and scouring pans. The most ordinary of domestic household jobs for the most ordinary of female human slaves.

If Shmi wasn’t happy with her lot, at least she couldn’t say that she was actively _un_happy either. As long as she stayed in the kitchens, she was kept far away from Mistress Gardulla’s less savory associates – smugglers, bounty hunters, enforcers, crooked bureaucrats, and other Hutts of the Syndicate, to name just a few of the types – the sorts of associates who might hit Shmi or harass her. Or worse.

Not every slave was ordinary, though. Dunia wasn’t.

Dunia was a blue-skinned female Twi’lek, and even by the remarkably high standards applied to her species, she was exquisitely beautiful. She was also a talented dancer. And as Mistress Gardulla’s own personal slave, Dunia had never strayed anywhere as lowly as one of the kitchens.

Under normal circumstances, they never would have met. For a long time, they did not…

…until a serving droid had the not-infrequent misfortune of fatally displeasing the Mistress, that is, and Shmi was brought into the dining hall in the droid’s place to serve during an important annual meeting of the Syndicate.

The stakes were high for Mistress Gardulla, and Shmi had every intention of keeping her head well down and getting in and out as quickly as possible. She would be the little brown titmouse, and as far as the Hutts and their assorted guests were concerned, Shmi succeeded.

Most of them were too busy watching Dunia anyway.

Dunia was on the dais. Alone. And dancing to music of her own composition.

Shmi was utterly captivated. She’d never seen dancing like this. The acrobatics, the athleticism, the fluidity, the effortlessness. Magnificent. Dunia leapt and twisted and whirled, her lekku like an extra pair of limbs in balletic flight behind her. Shmi spent that entire evening crouched in a far corner of the hall, watching the most beautiful being she had ever seen in all her life.

She didn’t know it then, of course, but the whole time Shmi was watching Dunia, Dunia was watching Shmi watch her.

It was love at first sight – for both of them.

*

They always worked long hours. They were not together again until the darkness and the chill of the desert night had well and truly set in.

Dunia slid into bed beside Shmi, wrapping one arm loosely around her waist while her other arm reached behind Shmi’s head to free her hair from her braid. Dunia combed her fingers through Shmi’s hair. She didn’t speak; Shmi didn’t ask what she’d been doing with her day. The answer would undoubtedly be painful.

“I’m so grateful you’re here,” Shmi said instead, drawing herself up more closely against Dunia’s body.

Dunia chuckled and rested her forehead against Shmi’s. “Where is this coming from, all of a sudden?”

“I just want to make sure that you know. We are given so little as slaves, and I have been given you. I don’t know how or why, but I’ve been blessed. I want you to know that I don’t take you for granted. I don’t take _anything _for granted.” Shmi hated how insecure she sounded when she spoke of these things, but the little brown titmouse was nothing if not humble.

“Every single person who comes into our lives bearing love is a blessing,” Dunia said. “That’s what my people believe.”

“Yes. I believe that too.”

They began to kiss and caress each other in earnest, not frantically but slowly, deeply. The pleasure they shared was sweet, something to be cherished, and they knew never, ever to take it for granted. Dunia opened the front of Shmi’s gown and then her own so that their bare breasts brushed together. They rocked into each other, grinding sensitive flesh into sensitive flesh until the feeling intensified and peaked, and they cried out softly, a celebration of their union.

“I love you,” Shmi said afterwards, cuddling close to Dunia.

“I love you too,” Dunia replied.

Embracing, they fell asleep.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dunia (the Lekku Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20672432) by [avocadomoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avocadomoon/pseuds/avocadomoon)


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